Freak The Party

It was a freak bar. A party.

"Want to get high, Deary?"

"Want to get lost?"

Yes. Getting lost was the idea. Here. Now. Gone.

"Oh yeah, I'm gonna take you higher."

He was six three, at least. Two-fifty or so. Certainly not fat. Definitely all man. I didn't know his name, but I'd seen him flashing edges earlier in the night. Nice edges, too. Not like some of the ones I'd seen, crusted in the blood of previous victims.

I was hunting that night, I admit. Hunting for danger, pain, sex. Hunting to get rid of the lonely that still floated around my shoulders like a cloak.

The back room was dark, as they always were. He flicked his edge open and closed again, watched my eyes dance. In a second, less, he was on me. Edge at my throat, breath in my ear. I could hear the sounds of people around us. The hush of conversation, turned laughter, turned lust.

"Touch yourself."

"No." I was no pushover Vic, "Make me." It hung in the air.

My refusal, his still latent violence. Would he cut me? Would he spill me on the floor for the blood-sluts to lick up? Yes. Yes, he would.

Red. Welling up of life, pouring forth. This is getting lost. Gone.

~

Morning came. I woke to a mass of bruises. My arm was swollen with bite marks. Blood had been drawn at my throat and down my thighs. His suckling mouth still pressed phantom kisses along my body.

The shower I took was achingly cold and the water that circled the drain was tinged with pink/ Getting dressed hurt, the turtleneck pressing against edge slices.

Work. Yes, work. Never get lost before a long day at the office. Sometimes I even follow my good advice, sometimes.

~

The night enclosed me again. It was stiflingly hot. The moisture clung to my hair and clothes. I was outside the bar again.

Rarely did I visit the same place two nights in a tow. Everyone knew me, had heard of me, but I was a regular nowhere. I was into getting lost, not making friends. But enemy's, apparently, do not need physical presence to breed animosity.

The door opened to me, the smell of blood and sweat, sex and fear overtaking my senses.

"Come on in, Deary."

"Yes, come inside."

The chorus of taunts and invitations followed me to the bar.

"What's your pleasure?"

"Nathaniel, I think you know that." I flashed my eyes at him, watching his pulse get faster.

"Madeline, what can I do for you?"

"Rapture, straight, please."

A toad slimed over, "Only the best, eh? Nate, put it on my tab."

"Thank you, but no. I work hard to afford such habits."

"Yes. Yes, I'm sure you do."

The first sip was acid. Sure, some H would have stopped it; but anything this good was worth a little pain. The second soothed the fire and cleaned my soul. I was pure. I finished in three, as was customary. Anymore and the Lonely would hit before the ride had even begun.

Then, Rapture singing in my veins, I went to kill the Lonely.

"Oh honey, let me cross your line."

I t was the same man from last night. Damian, yeah, that was it. I could hear my own voice crying out that name.

"Only if I let you."

"What if you can't stop me?" He was at my side, his edge at my throat.

"Going to spill me right here?" My throat bobbed against his edge.

"Why not? Tongues can touch the floor outside here, too."

Some blood-sluts had been attracted by the edge. They waited at the polite periphery, but hungry, ready to close in. Etiquette maintained that they kept their distance until the spill hit the floor. I had long since practiced the art of arching my back to collect the spill between my breasts. If done correctly, with the right clothes, sometimes nothing at all hit floor. I heard someone starting to pant.

Then, "Come home with me. I want to spill you onto my bathroom floor, watch your back arch as you kneel to lick it up."

My body turned into pure sex. Every muscle a straining libido. Higher. Harder. Faster. Line crossed. No harm. No foul. I was going to enter the gates of Heaven. His edge pressed harder into my throat. Yes. Oh, fucking heaven, yes! Shudder. Cringe. Blood filling the hollow of my neck.

~

Home. His home. A nice flat done up in all metal. The bluish tinge of gunmetal setting off the silver spark of steel.

"Should I tell you to relax? Offer you a seat? Get you some tea?"

He stared me down. I could back off now. He was giving me an out. The lonely was gone, driven out by the adrenaline still coursing through me. This was for a different purpose.

I went to my knees, offering my throat. Good. Bad. Who cared? He was whispering low, under his breath. I couldn't make out the words. He came close. Closer. Closer. He ran his thumb along my bottom lip.

"That's a good girl. Go on, suck on it."

I took him into my mouth, His flesh soothing against my palate.

"Yeah, that's a good girl."

I was wet to my thighs, so turned on it hurt. Where was his edge? Where was his body? I wanted him. Needed him, in me, close to me. Skin to skin. Heart to heart. Pounding.

He kissed me. It was rape. It was communion. He curled his fists in my hair, pulling me closer, letting me taste exquisite surrender. I was helpless in the dragon's lair. Enthralled by lips and teeth and tongue. This. Oh yeah,

"I'm going to hurt you now."

He spread my legs, running the edge up and down my thighs. Slice. Slice. Gasp.

He dug his fingers into the wounds as he fucked me senseless. My head swam. Little starbursts of light and pain filled my vision.

"Such a good girl." He crooned, massaging blood into my skin.

We were perfection, perfect lust.

Then,

Slap!

It was like being hit by a truck. My face, still stinging from the blow began to rain tears.